


Spa Lecter

by vipjuly



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (But absolutely not what you think), Budding Love, Facials, Fluff, M/M, Mild Enya bashing, Neurodiversity, Set in season 1 while Hannibal therapizes Will, Writing Hannigram fluff makes me mildly uncomfortable but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 06:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30000858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Hannibal's next venture in therapizing Will is introducing him to a spa facial, in order to get both his body and mind to relax. Spoiler: it works.--“I think you are quite becoming as a grumpy kitten.”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83





	Spa Lecter

**Author's Note:**

> i have terrible writer's block so this is an exercise to try and get back on track. little trick for me personally getting over a block: "write what you know". i'm a licensed esthetician and y'know what writing about giving someone a facial was just as relaxing as the act. just some relaxing fluff for y'all.

“You want to what?” 

Casual as ever, Hannibal idly poured them two glasses of wine. His movements were elegant, his face a mask, moving about as though he’d only told Will that there were clouds rolling over the horizon.

“Drain your lymphatic system via spa facial.” 

Will felt a little woozy. He covered it up by leaning his hip against Hannibal’s heavy desk, feeling grounded just by touching the wood. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, resisting the blush to the best of his ability, fidgeting with his glasses. 

“You want to give me a facial.” 

Clearly unbothered, Hannibal walked over to Will, holding out a half full glass of wine. He arched a nearly invisible brow. “That is what I said, yes.” 

Taking the wine and knocking it back without thinking twice, Will felt the alcohol prick and poke at his mouth and throat as it went down. Hannibal only looked mildly insulted at the action, moving away from Will to take a seat in one of the plush leather chairs in front of the fireplace.

“I’m sure you have never had a facial before-” Will covered up a snort by coughing. “-but there are many benefits to receiving one. An hour and a half of quiet, with gentle music if you like, wonderful aromas and soothing touch.” 

“You want to touch my face for an hour and a half.” 

Now the corner of Hannibal’s eye twitched slightly. “The answer would be yes or no, Will.” 

Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he felt the calloused tips of his fingers scrape over his stubble nearly unpleasantly. A face washing wasn’t something that was absolutely foreign to him; he cleansed, and he softened his beard sometimes when he had time or thought about it. But an entire facial? With more products than Will can even think about? It’s not that he had any misogynistic views of something like a ‘spa day’, in fact quite opposite, but it’s never really recurred to him that, perhaps, _he_ should indulge.

Leave it to Dr. Hannibal Fucking Lecter to prescribe a _spa day_ to help keep his mind and body healthy.

Honestly it shouldn’t have taken him as long as it did to answer, “Yes.” 

Hannibal’s entire face lit up in a way that assured Will that he’d made the right decision. “Wonderful.” 

\--

The following Sunday, Will was in the upstairs guest bathroom of Hannibal’s home. Hannibal had instructed him to strip and put on the softest robe he’d ever had the pleasure of touching, and handed him a soft cloth headband to bring his hair up and out of his face. This was all well and good, except for when Will turned to the mirror to see that the headband had-

“Kitty ears?” Will flung open the door, glaring at Hannibal who was standing coolly against the wall opposite the bathroom. 

“The other headband is in the wash,” the doctor said with no regret, “and that was a gift in one of the skincare bundles I ordered.” 

Doing his best not to glower and sort of doing so anyway, Will grumbled and wrapped the robe around himself tighter. He was fully nude underneath, which Hannibal hadn’t said to be specifically, but Will wasn’t really a fan of how robes acted over boxers when lying down. Hannibal pushed away from the wall and led Will down the hallway to one of the closed doors (who knew how many bedrooms this place had?), opening it up to allow a gust of fragrant essential oils out into the hallway. 

Caught off guard, Will’s nose wrinkled a bit. “Little heavy on the lavender there, doc.” 

“Your nose will adjust quickly.” Hannibal was no-nonsense as usual, gesturing for Will to enter the room. It was smaller than the guest bedroom, so at one point it must have been an office; now it was a dark, quiet spa room, one that Hannibal must use himself, judging by how lived-in it appeared. The shelves on the walls housed fragrant plants, the overhead lights were off in favor of twinkle lights hanging along the crown moulding; there was a large, plush leather armchair with a reclining back and a foot bath placed on the floor in front of it, and in the center of the room, a table draped in sheets that probably had a higher thread count than Will’s entire bedding set. Hannibal gestured to it elegantly with a hand, “Please lie down.” 

Will eyed Hannibal with a tiny bit of scrutiny for just a moment. The man was dressed down in a soft sweater and cotton slacks, sleeves rolled up and feet bare. His hair was unstyled and even though it was Will about to be serviced, Hannibal looked pretty relaxed himself. Clenching and unclenching his jaw a few times, Will nodded. His relationship with Hannibal had crossed over a thin line a while ago- honestly, how far further could this push them? 

Sitting down on the bed, Will reflexively lifted his hands to the lapels of his robe, then glanced up at Hannibal questioningly. 

“You may leave it on, or,” Hannibal stepped up to the head of the bed, unfolding some of the sheets like a paper airplane, “you may take it off and I can wrap you up like a cocoon in the sheets. I must advise you that wearing the robe _and_ being wrapped up tends to become uncomfortable quickly.” 

Ah. Perhaps this is how much further it could push them. 

He could leave his robe on and save his last bit of modesty. Hannibal has seen him down to threadbare boxers, has seen into some of the deepest corners of his mind… but seeing him naked? Chewing the inside of his cheek, Will looked at the sheets consideringly. Knowing how meticulous Hannibal was, there was no doubt that he really was going to wrap Will up so tight he’d be immobile. Was that something he wanted? To be rendered helpless in a small smell-good room with a monster wearing a person-suit? 

“There is a good chance you will fall asleep during your facial. However you think you would be most comfortable is best.” 

Will couldn’t help but snort. “Fall asleep? We both know how that goes.”

The corners of Hannibal’s eyes crinkled attractively. “Yes. Either you don’t fall asleep, or when you do you wander away from your bed.” He gestured to the sheets. “No matter if you are cocooned or free, I will be here to make sure you stay put.” 

Huhm. The cocoon sounds like… restraints. But really nice restraints. Being shackled and strapped down has always been a nightmare that plagued Will but looking at the soft sheets and inhaling the lavender and anticipating getting a massage _anywhere_ on his body… And- parents swaddle their babies to give them comfort when they’re not being held, so realistically, the human body has a primordial need to be wrapped up and warm and cozy- 

“I’ll take off the robe.” 

Politely, Hannibal turned around. 

Oh, right. Will felt his cheeks flush slightly. Disrobing meant naked. Carefully, he took off the robe, folding it up and setting it on the nearby armchair. He laid out on the bed, for a moment fearful he would rock it and fall right off, but when he found it stable he relaxed. 

“You may draw the bottom layer of blankets up to your hips.” 

Thank God. Will sat up to reach down and get at the bottom sheet, finding it a little difficult to bring up over his legs. It was crooked, and some of his pubic hair was visible, but it was the best he could do without ruining the weird origami of sheets. Lying down again, head resting on the amazingly comfortable pillow, Will closed his eyes and tried to relax. 

Hannibal, being Hannibal, had a sixth sense and knew when Will was ready. He registered the doctor pulling his glasses off of his face, heard the sound of them clicking as they folded. Then he felt Hannibal’s strong, capable hands tugging and pulling at the blankets with so much confidence and maybe a bit of aggression, Will thought he’d fly off the table. But with edges being pulled and corners being tucked, it took less than a minute for him to feel the cocoon Hannibal told him about. He was immobile from his elbows to his toes, his shoulders and chest and head free. His legs were wrapped tightly together, his feet elevated on something soft, and his hands had fallen to a natural rest over his stomach. 

He wouldn’t say it out loud but-

It felt… kinda great. 

Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to Hannibal move about the room. He heard the telltale click of a CD player being turned on, and before he could help himself he said, “No Enya.” 

Something fumbled and fell. Hannibal cleared his throat. “Of course. Do you have a preference?” 

“No Enya.” 

“Perhaps some diurnal sounds used in meditation?” 

“Is there percussion?”

“Some.” 

“Sometimes percussion messes with my…” with his arms trapped he couldn’t gesture, so he rocked his head side to side idly. 

“Ah. It wouldn’t do to induce a headache during a relaxing spa day.” 

Falling quiet, he listened to Hannibal’s hands browse CDs. The man’s feet were deathly quiet as he moved, almost like he was floating rather than stepping. It was mildly unsettling, how silent he was, save for the movements he might be purposely telegraphing for Will’s benefit. 

A CD clicked in, a button pressed, and…

“Enya.” Will said flatly. There was a faint curl to his lips.

Hannibal’s voice was suddenly close. “If it is truly a problem I can change it, but I have a routine set to this specific soundtrack.”

“Routine?” 

“Facials are composed of many movements. Cleansing, massaging. Fingers, hands, tools and brushes. There is a certain order, and certain things must be done for a specific length of time. I have concocted a most favorable routine to this particular album.” 

“Huh.” Will opened his eyes. Hannibal was seated at the head of the table, upside down in Will’s vision. “I didn’t know facials were that complicated.”

Hannibal smiled beatifically. “Everything that is beautiful is intricate.” 

Snug as a bug in a rug, Will’s grandma used to say. He felt strangely safe and secure in this blanket burrito, and though the shark’s teeth were near the danger zone, Will felt oddly sure that Hannibal truly, honestly wanted to give him a facial, with no weird underlying ulterior motive or metaphors to wax about. His hindbrain was still cautious as ever, nearly always on full alert whenever he was with Hannibal, but other than that he finally allowed himself to relax bit by bit. First his brow. Then his lips. Then his jaw, neck, shoulders. He took a deep breath and felt his spine sink into the softness beneath him. His legs relaxed in a way that would cause his feet to loll away from one another if they weren’t bound.

Seeing his body physically relax, Hannibal quietly started.

His fingertips rested idly at Will’s temple. Like a vacuum they sucked out more of the tension in Will’s body. Then, they started to move. Hannibal’s fingers moved over the contours of Will’s features, down over his jaw and throat and collarbones, continuously touching him without pause. If a hand lifted, the other stayed in contact. Will tried to track the movements, to see if there would ever be even a fraction of a second where the doctor’s fingers left his skin, but he couldn’t tell. The feather-light touches were relaxing. Hannibal’s fingers drew back up to his temples, massaged softly, then his fingers finally left.

Will didn’t open his eyes. He was already breathing deeply from that contact alone. 

There was a soft splashing noise, and then Hannibal’s fingers returned to pass what felt like a damp cloth over Will’s skin. The fabric felt like soft flannel, way more gentle than the wash cloths that Will generally submitted himself to. Hannibal wet his face, jaw, neck and upper chest, the cloth passing over Will’s exposed nipples. They peaked from attention, but Will was already in the beginning stages of deep relaxation. The temperature of the room was regulated, a humidifier on one of the shelves keeping everything balmy. Still, the passing of the cloth elicited goosebumps. 

Hannibal’s hands retreated. There was another sound, wet and nearly sticky, and then Hannibal was using his elegant, expert hands and fingers to start spreading cleanser over Will’s skin. Resisting a sigh at the contact and how luxurious the foam felt, he relaxed even further into the cocoon. Maybe he would fall asleep. In Hannibal’s care, Will knew that he was likely to pass out, and wrapped up in the sheets like this, there wasn’t a chance of him getting up and wandering. 

Since Hannibal had pointed it out, Will’s ears tuned to the music as he focused his other senses on how Hannibal was rhythmically moving the cleanser over his skin in delicate circles. From his chin to either side of his jaw, back to his ears. A sliding touch back down to his chin, then up the lower portion of his cheeks. Repeated, until Hannibal gently swiped over his mouth with his thumbs, the pads of them moving to his upper lip. His stubble scraped against Hannibal’s skin, but the cleanser kept it from being uncomfortable. The doctor switched from his thumbs to his fingers, continuously working in small circles, from the bottom of Will’s face up to his forehead. The cleansing massage over his nose nearly made Will groan with relief; but when Hannibal’s thumbs stroked firmly over his eyebrows, from the inner to the outer, he couldn’t help but let out a satisfied moan. It was a tension spot for him and to feel Hannibal massaging away all of the built up tension was sublime. Hannibal lingered there for a few moments, before moving up to Will’s forehead. More smoothing pressure. Will finally let out a happy sigh. 

He was so relaxed he didn’t notice Hannibal’s fingers leaving his skin. The softness of the flannel deepened his state of calm as the doctor used it to wipe up the cleanser. Even though he didn’t cleanse Will’s throat and chest, he still passed the flannel over them with the same pressure he’d used on his face, rubbing in small circles. Maybe there was a cleanser on the cloth. Who knew. At this point, who cared. A tornado could tear the house apart and Will wouldn’t notice. 

Hannibal repeated the exact same routine with his fingers and thumbs over Will’s face, but this time the cleanser smelled and felt different. It was softer, more slippery, and didn’t foam. This round was a bit more perfunctory, not a single deviation from the routine but done in half the time. Again, the flannel. Again, Will sighed. 

Hannibal didn’t say a word. Neither did Will, but that was to be expected. As he was with any sort of task, the doctor was quiet and thorough. As he was when not being spoken to, Will was silent. 

There was a slight clicking of plastic; Will opened his eyes and saw Hannibal rolling over what looked like a lightless, retro office lamp. The doctor affixed it to rest less than a foot away from Will’s face, adjusting a few settings. He flipped a switch and the machine let out a nearly inaudible hiss, before a faint bubbling sound percolated from a chamber that looked like it held liquid. 

“Close your eyes,” Hannibal instructed.

Will did.

The steam hitting his face was nearly a religious experience. Will was always a fan of hot showers, as hot as they could go, and though he naturally ran warmer than the average person Will still liked the sensation of being warm. In this specific setting, wrapped tightly in the blankets with a gentle pouring of steam over his features, Will could see how people fell asleep during facials. He still wasn’t sure if he’d be one of those people, but he could envision it. 

Hannibal was giving him the ultimate relaxing experience, but Will was still wary of him.

As Will focused on what Hannibal was doing, he realized that he hadn’t thought of much else. No crimes, not Jack, not Alana, not even his dogs. His overactive brain was confined to this room and the happenings inside. The whisper of the beautiful plants rustling slightly from an invisible fan tucked away; the moisture in the air from the humidifier and now the steamer; the noiseless presence of Hannibal above him. 

In retrospect it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Hannibal moved on to physical forms of relaxation. He was already prone to touching Will when he thought he could afford it; the hand, wrist, elbow, shoulder. Polite, nearly edwardian touches, the man never overstepped his boundaries or advanced on Will in a way that would make him shy away or tell him to stop. They were easy touches without fanfare, which was probably why he got away with it. Most people telegraphed their movements for Will, let him see exactly what they were doing and what they were going to do. Neurotypical people who grossly underestimated the neurodivergent brain--especially Will’s--as though if they made a sudden move he’d have a meltdown. No one ever actually bothered to _ask_ how to touch him, and if that was the case, he wasn’t bothered to tell them.

Hannibal’s medical background afforded him plenty of knowledge on how to handle “someone like Will” (as he’d overhead Alana say, once). As such, Hannibal being _Hannibal_ , ever perceptive and scarily intuitive, had quickly figured out how to touch Will in a way that wasn’t overwhelming or stressful. His touches came and went, so quick and casual that oftentimes Will didn’t even notice he’d been touched. 

The probing of Will’s mind was meant to escalate to physical touch, that of which Will was sure. Granted, he’d expected something like a back massage with aromatherapy, but given how this facial felt, he was glad this was the route that Hannibal chose. The touches were confined to his head, face, neck, chest and shoulders. Touch to his entire body would probably be too much, so it was smart of Hannibal to introduce him to intimate relaxation this way. 

Of course it was smart of Hannibal.

The next touch to Will’s face was cold and airbrushed. Hannibal was using some sort of paintbrush to spread a thick substance around his features. A mask, Will’s brain settled on. Clay, perhaps, given the texture. Hannibal spread it from forehead to chin, and when it was surely covering every last inch of skin, he continued to gently sweep over Will’s features with the brush. Definitely relaxing. The brush made its way down Will’s throat to his collarbones, just a bit of product leftover smearing across his skin, the sensation almost overly pleasant. It skated over his nipples, the touch clinical still, goosebumps erupting over his skin. Whatever parts of his body weren’t tucked into the blankets, the brush passed over. It felt like forever. Will slipped into a meditative state, focused solely on the brush, his subconscious still refusing to fall fully under. 

After an indeterminable time, the brush withdrew. The flannel was back, gently wiping away the mask. Steam hit newly revealed flesh, and Will could swear that he felt his pores opening up and purging themselves. He let out a soft sigh. Hannibal took his time removing the mask, the flannel wiping a bit more firmly than it had before. The doctor’s hands on his chest and shoulders were comforting--heavy, like a weighted blanket. 

There was only a few second break of the flannel leaving his skin before Hannibal’s bare hands made contact again. They were warm from use and the steamer, his broad palms and strong fingers smoothing across Will’s chest from sternum to rib. He repeated the process, Will’s ears attuning to the music to match the rhythm of the routine Hannibal had perfected. Like this Hannibal massaged Will’s pliant body with a thick, lavender-scented cream. Taking a deep breath, Will exhaled as Hannibal swept his palms outward over his chest. They moved in tandem, Will inhaling and exhaling, expanding and relaxing, Hannibal’s hands moving accordingly. This lulled Will into an even deeper state of relaxation--any further and he’d fall unconscious. 

Slowly Hannibal’s hands moved upward. He applied delicious pressure on Will’s collarbones out to his shoulders, then up to the lower part of his throat. Will was trying to keep track of which sections he was massaging, but his brain was beginning to fuzz out. He drifted in and out, aware of Hannibal’s hands and not much else. When Hannibal’s fingers moved up to his jaw, fingers and thumbs pinching and massaging, he felt every bit of tension drain from his skull. He wouldn’t be surprised if he never got another headache again, after this. Hannibal massaged his chin, up his jaw, in a similar fashion to how he cleansed him. His touch was firmer now, and Will really couldn’t tell if or when his fingers left his skin. Suddenly he wished, violently, that Hannibal would never stop touching him. 

That thought didn’t scare him as much as he thought it would.

Later, he’d blame it on how good the facial felt.

Again, the massage seemed to last forever. Will floated back to awareness when Hannibal removed his hands, and then outright groaned when they returned to sink his fingers into Will’s curly hair. The scalp massage was otherworldly. So much tension in Will’s head was kept in his scalp--not only from the headaches that persisted, but the way he would tug his own hair in frustration. 

This time, he fell asleep. 

When he woke up he was suffused with warmth, still wrapped tightly, the steamer billowing gently over his face and chest. Hannibal’s fingers were back on his skin, rubbing in some sort of cream or lotion. Will’s eyes fluttered open, lids heavy, to look up at Hannibal through his lashes. Even upside down the man was handsome, his features stunning in the low ambient light in the room. 

“Welcome back,” Hannibal said softly. His voice was pitched low, mellifluous and soothing. His fingers were resting gently against his temples, unmoving.

“Hey,” Will’s voice matched his pitch. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Amazing,” he replied without hesitation. 

A small smile tugged at Hannibal’s lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively. “Wonderful.” His fingers withdrew from Will’s features with a final swipe, the ghost of his touch lingering. “Would you like to take a nap?”

“Didn’t I already?” asked Will with a crooked smile. 

“There’s no rush for you to get up,” the doctor explained. “If you wish to continue resting I can change the music and re-wrap your blankets so your chest and arms are secured as well.” 

Will took stock of his body. His hands still rested over his belly, his biceps and shoulders exposed. He wondered what it would feel like to be cocooned up to his neck--tried to imagine the security and safety he would feel. Yet, as he looked up at Hannibal, his sharp angles softened by this angle and the low light, he felt quite safe like this. 

“I can rest while you clean up.” A pause. “I don’t need to be wrapped again.”

Hannibal’s eyes twinkled. “A fair compromise.” 

Closing his eyes, Will listened to the sounds of Hannibal cleaning up. Product was put away on shelves or in cupboards, the steamer was pulled away, the little tray folded up and hidden discreetly. The soft sounds of Hannibal moving around the room were as gentling as the instrumental music he’d switched over to, Will suffused in a comfort he’d never felt before. 

All good things must come to an end. Hannibal’s hands reappeared on Will’s body, his fingertips ghosting slightly over Will’s chest before resting on his stomach over the blankets. Opening his eyes, Will looked up at Hannibal, meeting his gaze.

“Allow me to unwrap the beginning of the blankets. I’m afraid you won’t be able to do it yourself gracefully.” 

Smiling wryly, Will nodded. The blankets hadn’t loosened at all during the facial and he was definitely sure he would fall off of the bed if he tried to unwrap himself. 

As always, Hannibal worked with grace and elegance, looking as unruffled as ever. He gently unwound the first two layers of the blankets, Will feeling their comforting constriction loosen considerably. The doctor held his hands out to him, and Will only hesitated for a second before he reached up to take them, allowing himself to be hauled upright into a sitting position. 

Hannibal seemed reluctant to let go.

Will sort of felt the same. 

The man turned his back politely, clasping his right wrist with his left hand behind his back. Will was still careful in untangling himself, fully aware of the fact that if he fell on his face buck naked and had to have the doctor help him up, he wouldn’t want to live. Once he was on his feet he donned the robe, tying the sash and rotating his neck from side to side, absorbing the weightlessness of his body. 

“Would that be something you are willing to repeat?” Hannibal asked, his voice neutral but his eyes colored with interest when he turned around. 

Revisiting the security, the comfort, and taking stock of how he felt in that moment--light, unburdened, _clean_ \--Will gave a measured nod.

The pleased look on Hannibal’s features was worth the agreement. He reached up, fingers touching something on Will’s head--the headband, he quickly realized.

The headband with the kitty ears.

Scowling, Will reached up and slapped Hannibal’s hand away, even though something fluttered in his chest. Hannibal let out a _chuckle_ , his features warming and brightening, eyes glimmering in amusement. Fuck, he was attractive. 

“Different headband next time.”

“I think you are quite becoming as a grumpy kitten.” 

“Don’t push your luck, doctor,” Will warned. Even as he said it, he knew it was a show. The way Hannibal was looking at him caused his stomach to churn in a not entirely unpleasant way. 

“Of course,” Hannibal demurred. 

Turning around, Will headed to the door of the room, smiling now that Hannibal couldn’t see his features.

Maybe this whole “relaxation” thing wouldn’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> it's very satisfactory to render someone immobile by wrapping them up so tight they can't even scratch an itch. we are not going to dissect that.  
> not sorry about the enya bits


End file.
